


RXR

by lepoppeta



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, actual cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24459037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lepoppeta/pseuds/lepoppeta
Summary: Skimbleshanks and Munkustrap were not born Jellicles.
Relationships: Munkustrap/Skimbleshanks (Cats)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

In the early hours of the morning, Asparagus strolled without a destination in mind, and not particularly caring where he ended up, either. He had awoken from an already restless sleep, and had decided to shake the sensation from his paws with a walk, rather than to lie in his spot in the Junkyard and wait impatiently for unconsciousness to claim him. Even though it was early, there were plenty of humans about. Most held black leather briefcases and wore dark trench coats with the collars pulled way up past their necks. Asparagus, not wanting to weave in and out of the throng and accidentally trip one of them over, had taken to picking his way along whatever railing or fence he could find that happened to border the sidewalk he was following.

A forgotten newspaper billowed past him, causing him to hiss in surprise as he was nearly knocked off balance. He shook his head, annoyed at being so easily spooked, and decided that he might as well take the time to know where he was before he ended up walking out of London itself while preoccupied with his daydreaming. He peered up at the side of a nearby brownstone building, squinting in the steadily brightening sunlight. The white sign read “Euston Road”.

Asparagus’ ears flicked forwards when he caught the sound of a sharp train whistle. Looking across the street, there was in fact a station, already bustling with humans despite the hour. A fresh wave of them poured out from the entrance, yawning most unattractively. Settling himself on a brick post to watch, Asparagus wondered why he’d happened upon this part of London before; London Euston wasn’t terribly far from the Junkyard.

In a sort of ‘blink-and-you’ll-miss-it’ moment, Asparagus swore that he glimpsed a flash of striking ginger swerving between the legs of the sleepy passerby. The brown tabby blinked, wondering if he was starting to go senile much sooner than he anticipated, but his fear was put to rest when he noticed a young tabby tom burst forth in front of the crowd, green eyes glittering with kitten-like wonder. Asparagus never knew a cat to be so comfortable in amongst such multitudes, but this youngster, who was clearly no more than six months old, seemed right at home, brushing against people’s legs as he tried to absorb the new sights and sounds all at once.

He was the only feline that left the train station that morning; no mother nor mentor came to join him in his excitement.

It was this much that Asparagus related to his mate, Jellylorum, and her friend, Jennyanydots, that very same day, after he had managed a nap and twilight had descended upon the Junkyard. Jenny’s eyes went sad at the mention of how the kit seemed to be on his own, and Asparagus’ heart went out to the ginger queen; she did so love the youngsters of the Yard, despite still being quite young herself, and would mother them at any opportune moment. Knowing her as he did, he suspected that Jenny would have snatched the little tom off the street and would have given him a proper home with her.

“But a train station?” Jellylorum's nose wrinkled, “I’ve never heard of any self-respecting cat wanting to be around those ghastly great machines. I can’t imagine how he managed to get into that situation.”

Jenny placed a paw atop Jellylorum's. “I can’t believe that it was a personal choice of his; he’s far too young to be making that kind of decision on his own.” She turned back to Asparagus, “But... you said that he was unafraid?”

“More than that. He was loving it. He’d obviously never been to London before.” He craned his neck up to stare at a passing cloud, “I wonder where he’s from. We usually daren’t go anywhere near the stations...”

“I can ask Buster the next time he decides to visit,” Jenny decided, matter-of-factly. “Maybe the human he lives with travels around?”

Jelly nodded in agreement. “It’s worth a try. I don’t want to think about any sort of lost youth, no matter how comfortable they seem.” Her ears flattened against her skull, “I want him here where we can keep an eye on him... or I at least want to know that he’s well looked after.”

“Meanwhile,” Asparagus interjected, rising to his paws and stretching, “I can ask around and see if any of the strays have seen him. With the look he had on his face I doubt he would want to leave so soon after arriving.”

Jenny’s suggestion turned out to be an unfortunate dead end. Buster’s human did, in fact, travel, but not out of Euston Station. The portly tuxedo hadn’t the slightest idea where those particular trains went. Asparagus’ endeavour ended up being far more fruitful; ever since his inquiry, he had received several reports of the youngster wandering around the streets and back alleyways of London.

“A right chipper little tyke,” one grizzled grey tom, a regular of Victoria Grove, had mentioned. “Was singing somethin’ but I couldn’t for the life o’ me understand what it was.”

Was he a foreigner? If that was the case, what had caused him to stray so from home? These were the questions that weighed on Asparagus’ mind as he wandered through the Junkyard late one evening, picking his paws through the scrap metal and generally not looking where he was going. So much so, that he couldn’t even lift his head up in time when he heard an almighty clatter, and a tiger-striped lump crashed into him, knocking the poor brown tabby askew and sending him flying into a pile of old rags below.

“Hey!” Asparagus spat, once he had caught his breath. “Watch where you’re -- oh!”

“I’m sorry!” The wandering kitten blurted out, scrabbling backwards off of Asparagus’ chest and cowering to the earth. “I’m so sorry -- the plank slipped down the mound, I couldn’t stop it!” He continued to babble apologies in the thickest accent Asparagus had ever heard -- no wonder the other tom couldn’t understand him from afar!

“Now, now. Calm down, it was a simple mistake,” the older tom soothed. “I didn’t mean to snap. Are you alright?”

The ginger tabby nodded furiously, fluffing out his chest fur and parading around with his legs stuck straight out to demonstrate that he was well and truly a-okay. Up close, Asparagus could see that his fur was indeed the brightest ginger he’d ever seen, and the kit’s eyes were an alarming bottle-green.

“I saw you at Euston Station a few days ago.” Asparagus sat on his haunches and wrapped his tail neatly around his paws. “Where did you come from? Why are you all here on your own?”

The young tom promptly stopped his gallivanting around. His tail drooped behind him. “I... uh...”

“Let’s start with an easier question,” Asparagus cut in quickly. “What’s your name?”

That got him to brighten up a little. “M’name’s Skimbleshanks.”

“What a big name for such a little tom!”

“I’m not little!” Again, Skimbleshanks puffed out his chest. “I got here all on my own!”

“Yes, but why?” Asparagus cocked his head to the side. He was met with the same limp tail, and even Skimbleshanks' ears flattened in despair.

“My mum... she was old and she was sick. We -- I -- wasn’t meant to happen.” His little pink nose twitched as he sniffled, “I lost all my brothers and sisters... didn’t even get to know 'em.”

Asparagus’ heart sank. “I’m so sorry.”

Skimbleshanks shook his head roughly. “She put me on the train, told me to go to London. I don’t... I don’t think she’s around anymore.” He wiped at his whiskers with one paw. “I’ve been trying not to think about it, but... I don’t know why she would have sent me off, unless...”

“Oh, gracious, I can only imagine.” Asparagus shuffled closer to Skimbleshanks when the younger cat abruptly sat down next to him, laying his skinny brown tail across his back. “If I’d have known I wouldn’t have made you say anything.”

“S’alright.”

“... where did you live before?”

“All the way at the other end of the line, in Glasgow.”

Asparagus fell silent. In less than a week, the poor tabby had lost his only family and had boarded a train to a completely different part of the country, ready to begin a new life that both blew him away and left him feeling achingly lonely. Not wanting to overwhelm the little creature, but still concerned for his safety, Asparagus chose his next words carefully, “If you want... if you ever feel lonely, you can come back here. To the Junkyard.”

Skimbleshanks’ glittering eyes widened. “R-really?”

“Of course!” A purr rumbled in Asparagus’ chest. “We’d be more than happy to house you here, for the time being. Any kitten needs a family.”

“Yes... yes, I think I’ll do that.” Skimbleshanks eyes gleamed with tears that Asparagus assumed could only come from an intense mixture of grief and joy. The brown tabby allowed his purr to reach the newest Jellicle, and bring him comfort in a rare moment of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a bit of a roll, aren't I? I've had this idea sitting around for a short while so I've decided to try my hand at a short, multi-chapter work! I don't have any particular posting schedule, but my goal is to finish this fic before the beginning of July. Hold me to it!
> 
> We start our story with a young Skimbleshanks, and how I imagine he came to the Yard.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next year, Skimbleshanks was wholly and warmly welcomed into the open paws of the Jellicles. Asparagus became his friend and mentor, Jellylorum and Jennyanydots the closest things to sisters that he could ever ask for, and Old Deuteronomy an overwhelmingly approving, if absent, presence. He had lost one family and had immediately gained another in less than a fortnight, and thanked the Moon on the regular that he could share in their stories and their strange magic ways.

Despite his newfound home, and the love Skimbleshanks held for all of its inhabitants, he never felt more at peace than when he rode the Midnight Mail (which, he had since discovered, was the very same train that had carried him to London for the first time). He visited Euston Station, in the wee hours of the morning, so often that he had since become acquainted with the Station Master there, earning himself the title of "Chief Mouser" and permission to jump aboard the Midnight Mail whenever he pleased. Skimbleshanks loved nothing more than the keep things in running order, and when he had decided that every last component of the daily operation had been put in its place, the gentle rumbling and swaying of the train would lull him to sleep.

Still, he was around enough to welcome the new and cast out the old. As Skimbleshanks' legs grew ever longer, and the last of his kit-fur was overtaken by ruddy ginger stripes, he oversaw the expansion of the Yard; what was once only a handful of feral felines became a tightly-knit group of both residents and visitors. Before there hadn't been a single cat younger than he. Now, youth came in the form of Macavity -- a wild tom with a pelt like dead autumn leaves, who smelled faintly of fire and gasoline, who played tricks on the adults with no malice or hatred, and who was Old Deuteronomy's son in all but blood. No-one knew where he had come from, and many of them didn't trust Macavity to know either. _He had simply come into existence, by the will of Moon_ , Skimbleshanks overheard Jellylorum muttering under her breath one day, and he was half inclined to believe the superstitious molly.

Macavity wasn't the only kit who had been spontaneously taken under Old Deuteronomy's care -- Rum Tum Tugger and Demeter, twin beauties who had been found huddled on the side of a busy road, fearfully eyeing the battered body of their mother (which lay in the middle of street), flourished under the love of the Jellicles. Their dark, rosetted coats were the envy of every cat in London, and Tugger especially, even at his young age, paraded himself around for all the world to admire. Bombalurina, another parentless queen, joined the tribe not long after, and the three of them soon became fast friends.

Skimbleshanks had seen Jennyanydots at last admit her fondness for Bustopher Jones; he had witnessed Grizabella's sudden and heated departure. He rejoiced and mourned with the Jellicles as if they were his own blood relations.

Due to his short, meticulously groomed coat, the ginger tom found that any sudden cold winds would drive him away from the Junkyard, shivering, with his tail tucked between his legs. He had come to the Jellicles in early March, and had enjoyed his time with them in the warmer seasons, he knew that the chill of November would force him to leave them behind.

It was the following year, around the same March morning, after he at last returned to the Yard from the constant warmth of the Midnight Mail, that he at last met Munkustrap for the first time.

Skimbleshanks was looking forward to a well-deserved nap once he arrived, and perhaps a chat with Asparagus to catch up on the London gossip, as he tread across the boundaries of the scrap yard. Immediately he was under the impression that he was being watched; the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end, and despite the fairly humid spring breeze, a chill ran up his spine. His bright eyes darted about every which way...

... except up, it seemed.

With a disgruntled yowl, Skimbleshanks was bowled over onto his back. He hardly had a chance to breath, only having enough time to grapple feebly with the flurry of patchy fur that was currently doing its best to shred his ears to ribbons.

"Munkustrap?" Skimbleshanks recognized the distant voice as Tugger's, and would have sighed in relief if not for his predicament, "Munkustrap, stop! _That's Skimbleshanks, you daft furball!_ "

Immediately, the pressure lifted from Skimbleshanks' body. He gasped for air in light of the sudden release. Tugger, if he was going by scent, nudged at his shoulder, and continued to nag the still-unknown attacker.

" -have _got_ to stop playing the hero, Munkus! Honestly, you can't go attacking every single cat that waltzes across our borders -- we're not that stuck up, you know!" Tugger gave Skimbleshanks' coat a good sniff, "It's a miracle you didn't draw blood..."

"I've never seen him before! I've only heard stories!" A new voice ( _Munkustrap_ , Skimbleshanks corrected himself) argued back. "Stop telling me off like I'm some nuisance kit; you're barely older than me!"

"Alright, alright, settle down," Skimbleshanks wheezed. Shaking the last of the dust out of his pelt, he finally was steady enough to take a good, long look at his perpetrator.

Munkustrap's soft grey pelt was still slightly downy from kithood, and his eyes baby-blue, yet his stature spoke of a forced maturity that stretched eons beyond his young years. His claws remained unsheathed, yet the 'threat' had long since passed; he stared, long and hard, at Skimbleshanks, like he expected the ginger tabby to suddenly and ferociously turn on him and Tugger.

"Well," Skimbleshanks coughed, awkwardly attempting conversation. "You say you've heard stories of me, aye? Didn't think I was that exciting."

"Asparagus says that you ride the mail train to Scotland," Munkustrap said, warily. "Is that true?"

"That's right."

As if he hadn't just been intent on mauling Skimbleshanks, Munkustrap's eyes lit up, like street lamps at midnight.

"That's so cool," he breathed.

From beside Skimbleshanks, Tugger snorted, and fluffed out the short mane of fur that he was so ridiculously proud of. "You're so weird, Munkus. First you attack our guests, and now you want a bedtime story?" He tutted at the grey tabby, "Shameful."

Munkustrap didn't even bother acknowledging the criticism with a sharp glare. He scuffed his paws in the dirt, suddenly shy, "D'you think you could tell me about the trains? I've always wanted to go on an adventure."

Skimbleshanks grinned. "I wouldn't call the Midnight Mail an adventure... but who's counting, eh? I think I've got a couple tales worth telling..."

* * *

"I don't think I've seen that boy smile in months."

Skimbleshanks paused, head halfway to his foreleg, tongue still lolling out from his mouth. Asparagus crouched beside him, brushing out his whiskers with a paw and eyeing Rum Tum Tugger and Munkustrap as they play-fought in a tight ball of gold and grey.

"You sure?" Skimbleshanks shot him a curious glance, "He's done nothing but smile since I met him." He hadn't mentioned Munkustrap trying to flay him on sight to the others; the lad had looked apologetic enough, and Skimblshanks decided that being scolded twice in one day wouldn't have solved anything.

"You have a gift, Skimbleshanks," Asparagus murmured.

The two older toms continued to supervise the friendly tussle (with the much bigger Rum Tum Tugger appearing the clear victor), when: "... where did he come from?"

Grief clouded Asparagus' gaze. "He's Grizabella's, and mark my words -- he may never smile but that kit deserved a lifetime's worth of better mothers than her."

"That uppity trout left ages ago!"

Asparagus shifted uncomfortably. "Jelly thought that she was... before she left. He came to us soon after you'd left for the winter." The skinny brown tom shook his head, "Woke up one morning to find Jelly screeching her whiskers off at some soggy lump on our doorstep. The poor sod had run away in the middle of the night, in the rain."

"Oh..." Skimbleshanks couldn't find much of a response for that.

"Haven't gotten much out of him since then." Asparagus leaned close to his friend, his voice dropping to a low whisper, "Between you and me, I think she forgot about him all together. Was so starved for a proper family that he ran away."

Skimbleshanks heart ached for the young tom, who was now yelling hoarsely as a gleeful Tugger refused to _get off and stop sitting on me!_

"But! Ever since you came back, he's been much chattier!" Asparagus beamed at Skimblshanks, who flattened his ears in modesty. "Honestly, he won't stop talking about the things you've seen. We've stopped asking after you because we'll know he'll tell us anyway!"

"And what does Deuteronomy think of him?"

"I think that old cat's adopted more kittens in this year alone than he's had himself in his entire lifetime." Asparagus laughed, more to himself than anyone else, "Munk rarely goes anywhere without either Mac or Tugger. He's always telling them off!"

Sure enough, after Tugger had finally grown bored of squashing his 'brother', Munkustrap had already leapt to his paws, badgering him in a manner that reminded Skimbleshanks of Jellylorum, whenever Macavity had been practicing his otherwordly magic powers and had set an absent pile of scrap on fire.

"What makes _me_ so special?" Skimbleshanks wondered aloud. _He's obviously close to Tugger_.

Asparagus shrugged, "Everyone's been walking on eggshells since he came along. We figured he wouldn't want to talk about... you know. I suppose you simply have something new to say."

"Skimbleshanks!" Munkustrap's cry made the tabby sharply turn his hair, "Come and help me get back at Tugger, he's being unfair!"

"Not true!" Tugger feigned deep offence, "You're just short!"

Skimbleshanks chuckled, hauling himself to his paws. "Watch out Tugger!" He called, "Munk and I are going rip that ratty little mane right out of your neck!"

Tugger's amber eyes widened in true fear. Munkustrap and Skimbleshanks exchanged amused glances before bounding after the screeching Bengal, leaving Asparagus behind to laugh himself to tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loads of exposition here, but it was so fun to write - sorry! Munkustrap and Skimbleshanks meet for the very first time.


	3. Chapter 3

"Skimbleshanks!"

For a brief moment, Skimbleshanks wasn't exactly sure who had spoken his mouthful of a name. The voice was warm, with a confident elegance that very few cats managed to possess in a single lifetime. Something about it seemed oddly familiar, though... Skimbleshanks paused rose to his full, lanky height to find the source of the mysterious cry. 

A strikingly handsome silver tabby stood not three feet away, beaming at the ginger tom in a way that still unfairly fit his angular features. Skimbleshanks' mouth suddenly became bone-dry.

"... Munkustrap?"

It had been another three months since Skimbleshanks had seen the other tom, when he had made his rounds of goodbyes to the other Jellicles last November. Munkustrap had blinked at him without a trace of the beyond-his-years maturity that the other kept in insisting that he had, and Skimbleshanks remembered the dull ache in his heart as the harsh north winds forced him to leave the youngster behind; he had grown rather fond of him over that year.

"Do you really have to go?" Munkustrap had asked him mournfully, his eyes still kitten-blue and glinting in the light of the setting sun. Skimbleshanks had forced a roguish smile.

"I haven't got your thick fluff, Munk. I'll freeze to death out here; can't be having that." He had planted a rough lick between Munkustrap's ears, smoothing down a tuft of kit-fur. "It's only for a few months, aye? I'll be back at the first sign of Spring, I promise."

True to his word, when the first gust of truly warm air had ruffled through Skimbleshanks' whiskers, he'd caught the next Midnight Mail back to London as soon as he was able. With an affectionate bump of the head and a purr of farewell for the stationmaster, he had set off towards the Junkyard, avoiding the passerby with his tail held high and his ears pricked forwards.

He hadn't expected Munkustrap to be the first to find him, but as it was, he certainly wasn't complaining.

Gone was the downy fur on Munkustrap's shoulders and between his ears. His pelt was now effortlessly sleek -- an ethereal silver sliced through with night-black tiger stripes. His eyes had darkened, going from a pale summer sky to an intense blue-grey that made Skimbleshanks think of heavy, dangerous storm clouds.

And he had grown! Skimbleshanks had always been a little on the weedy side, but Munkustrap now easily met his gangly height. Skimbleshanks swallowed nervously as all his observations came together at once, and he realised, with a fluttery feeling deep in his belly, that Munkustrap wasn't anywhere close to the tom he left last late-autumn.

It was almost poetic.

"... you've grown." It was awkward, but at least it was true.

A heady purr rumbled in the silver tabby's throat. "Not too much, I hope!" He trotted over, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as his smile grew wider, "I wouldn't want to take your spot as the token beanpole of the Jellicles."

"I am _not_ a beanpole," Skimbleshanks huffed, feigning offence. "I'm... wirey."

"Of course you are." Munkustrap pushed his head underneath Skimbleshanks' jaw; his purrs made the ginger tom's bones rattle in a way that the trains never could. "Everlasting Cat, it's so great to see you!"

"And you, as well." Skimbleshanks' paws trembled, forcing him to sit roughly on his haunches, "Son of a Pollicle, you as well." His breath stuttered as it caught in his throat.

Munkustrap sniffed at him worriedly, "Are you okay?"

"I'm... fine." _Pull yourself together, you great fuzzy lump!_ "Just... overwhelmed. Three months is a long time to be on and off the trains." He pushed his muzzle into the fur on Munkustrap's shoulder, surrounding himself with his scent and sighing gravelly.

"I can only imagine!" Munkustrap allowed the tip of his tail to brush against Skimbleshanks' whiskers. "Come on! You can come to my den for a chat; you can tell me about your adventures on the way. Unless..." He bared his fangs, grinning sheepishly, "... you'd rather go to bed straight away?"

"What? Nah." The ginger tom made a great show of rolling his eyes, "There's still a little coal in this firebox, lad. I've got time to talk."

Skimbleshanks had a hard time producing anything coherent to say when Munkustrap was so irritatingly unaware of his own, sudden handsomeness. He had to keep stopping himself from outwardly gawking whenever the moonlight caught on Munkus' pelt, turning it near-white. He managed a few nods and the occasional three-word answer, but he mostly kept his jaws shut, pacifying himself by watching Munkustrap's shoulders roll easily under his skin.

"For someone who says that they've still got energy, you're being awfully quiet," Munkustrap pointed out, nosing Skimbleshanks through the hole in the side of his home.

"Wouldn't want to run out of conversation before we even sat down, now would we?" Skimbleshanks silently thanked his lucky stars that he was as witty as he was. He circled around on Munkustrap's nest of ratty dish towels, biting back a squeak of surprise when the silver tom plopped easily down next to him. Their shoulders brushed; Skimbleshank's ears grew rather warm.

"Go on, then," Munkustrap raised his brow, his blue (such a deep, dark blue) eyes sparkling in the faint shafts of moonlight that filtered through the ceiling of his crates.

They spoke quietly until the moon began to droop towards the horizon, and when Skimbleshanks couldn't contain his yawns anymore. He made to leave and find his own stale den, stretching out his claws and sweeping his tail across Munkustrap's towels, but he suddenly became hyper-aware of the fact that Munkustrap had begun leaning on him mid-conversation, and now his head was pillowed on Skimbleshanks' shoulder.

"Lad-"

"Stay," Munkustrap interrupted softly. "I don't fancy being alone tonight."

Skimbleshanks forced himself to swallow. "A-alright."

They would wake together, hours later, with their whiskers brushing together and Rum Tum Tugger yowling rudely outside of Munkustrap's pile of crates.

* * *

"I don't think I've _ever_ known you to be this quiet." Tugger leaned back, smiling at Skimbleshanks with bared fangs. "I'd say you were ill, but I think something else is weighing on your mind, eh, Railway Cat?"

Skimbleshanks didn't give deep thought much importance. If one thought too much, they would never take action. Action would always win out over thought any day, because action got things done. Action was what made sure that the Sleeping Car was free of mice for another night; action alerted the Conductor of any and all suspicious behaviour. Action could mean the changing of one’s existence entirely.

Yet, it now occurred to Skimbleshanks that if he took one step further in this little emotional venture of his, then there was every possibility it might blow up in his face. For the first time in possibly his life, the ginger tabby had turned to thought for comfort.

"Are you ever going to tell me what you two were doing?" Tugger licked a paw and swiped it over his left ear, "Munkustrap's been giving me cheek about it all day. Says he won't tell a soul." The dark, rosetted tabby peered at Skimbleshanks over his (now fully grown, and rather luxurious) mane of fur, "It wasn't anything naughty, was it?"

It was unfortunate that Tugger had caught them that morning; it would have been impossibly to slip out of Munkustrap's den separately, and the silver tom had been coated in Skimbleshanks' obvious, industrial scent from head to toe.

"No!" Skimbleshanks lashed his tail, "Nothin' like that. I'd never!"

Tugger shrugged smoothly. "Shame," he mused. "Munkustrap could use a good-"

" _That's quite enough!_ "

Tugger cackled, "I don't think anyone would ever go for that goody two-paws. He's been such a _pain_ , ever since Deuteronomy started giving him lessons."

That caught Skimbleshanks off guard. "Lessons?"

"Munkustrap's going to be a Jellicle Protector. Deuteronomy's teaching him himself." Tugger wrinkled his muzzle in disgust, "He's going to be insufferable when he gets older. He already tells me what to do all the time. Well..." Tugger blinked slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. "He _tries_ , anyway."

Skimbleshanks hardly caught the tail-end of what Tugger had said; he had already slipped back into his thoughts, mulling over this new information. A Protector! It was an honour to be chosen to guard the Junkyard in Deuteronomy's absence, but Skimbleshanks had heard many stories about long-ago cats that had lost their lives to violent Pollicles or cold or disease, and far too soon, all so that their fellow Jellicles could continue to live peacefully.

Munkustrap would never have time for him, not in a million years.

Skimbleshanks hadn't really thought about taking a mate before. The Midnight Mail kept him busy; it was an adventure almost every journey, no matter how mundane it would seem to others. He'd spoken to cats from all walks of life and had considered them all friends, or, at the very least, acquaintances. Not to mention, he was completely absent for three months out of each year. What would that mean for him, to leave someone that cherished behind?

What would it mean to _Munkustrap_?

Tugger interrupted him yet again. “Ah, here comes the tom of the hour. We were just talking about you!”

Skimbleshanks whipped his head up, stealing himself so no-one could see him trying to suck in great lungfuls of nervous air. Munkustrap passed by their perch overlooking the Yard. He looked much different in direct sunlight; instead of white, his sleek coat was streaked with pale gold, and his eyes reflected a much paler, more innocent shade of blue.

 _I’d prefer him under the moon any day_.

“I hope you aren’t tormenting him, Tugger,” he warned, and Skimbleshanks got a taste of the serious cat that everyone insisted Munkustrap to be. His voice was much harder, like cold, wet stone. No-nonsense and strict.

 _He’s never spoken to me like that_.

“I’d never,” Tugger brought a paw to his chest. “Merely warning him about how much of an arse you are.”

Munkustrap rolled his eyes, “I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

Tugger twitched his whiskers, “Ah, but you apparently had time for Skimbleshanks this morning. What makes him so special, hm?” He leaned back dramatically, bumping into the ginger tabby, “Choosing him over your own brother? Rude!”

“He’s much more polite than you.” Munkustrap paused, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He spared Skimbleshanks an affectionate glance before turning tail, “And much better-looking.”

Skimbleshanks could barely register Tugger’s outraged scoff over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm definitely going to have to come back to this one day when it's complete and revise it -- my headcanons for my own little universe seem to be constantly changing. If there's any inconsistency, I deeply apologize. 
> 
> Skimbleshanks catches feels and he's not sure what to do about it.


	4. Chapter 4

"... and then I had to go traipsing around for half the afternoon, looking for the Conductor's glasses." Skimbleshanks pulled a face at the recent memory, "Honestly, I admire their tenacity, but humans can be so stupid, sometimes."

A ball of brown and white lounged at his forepaws. Its head lolled backwards to stare up at him, upside-down. "Do you think Mum would let me ride the Midnight Mail with you the next time you have to go? You always seem to have so much fun..."

A sympathetic chuckle worked its way up Skimbleshanks' throat, "I think you're a little young for that, Plato." He pawed at the kitten's ears, eliciting a delighted squeal at the promise of play.

Plato's eyes widened, pleading. "Can't you sneak me on?"

Skimbleshanks shook his head, still smiling. "Jellylorum would have my head, and then some."

"But it's so boring sometimes!" Plato rolled the rest of his body over, now resting on his belly. "Coricopat and Tantomile never talk to me, and Alonzo's always too busy." He rested his chin on his paws. A moody sigh escaped through his teeth, "And they're all too serious, anyway."

"Alonzo, serious?" Skimbleshanks tried for humour, "Well, you certainly don't know him like I do." He felt a little shaken when Plato sent him a half-hearted glare.

"It's all Macavity's fault," he muttered, turning his head away.

Skimbleshanks' chest tightened as he fought the familiar pangs of dread and grief that threatened to spill into his mouth. Macavity -- witty, mischievous, fantastical Macavity -- had been banished from the Jellicles just when Plato was old enough to remember. Munkustrap had stumbled upon a cleverly concealed stash of human items, from soft pearls to finely-cut crystal statuettes, in Macavity's den. Not wanting a confrontation straight away, the newly-appointed Protector had followed the elder one evening, intending to gather evidence of his thievery and only discovering something much worse. Skimbleshanks screwed his eyes shut, recalling the way his jaw had slackened in horror, as Munkustrap stoiclly attested for his brother's crimes before Old Deuteronomy -- property damage, minor arson, the use of unspecified magic in front of humans...

Macavity was sent away before dawn tinged the smoggy London sky, for refusing to acknowledge his actions as wrong. To alert the humans to the presence of magic was to put the entire Jellicle following at risk. He had to leave for the safety of the others.

Demeter followed him, a bright figure of gold next to a smouldering brand of flame.

Tugger had been devastated. His sister by blood and his brother in name, both ripped away from him in a single night. He refused to even visit the Yard, preferring the company of his own found humans in order to sulk. Weeks later, when he did manage to haul himself outside, he stuck to Bombalurina like a burr, and she shared in his mournful silence and intense grief.

Munkustrap moved on like nothing had happened.

"Aye, I reckon you'd be right." Skimbleshanks nuzzled into Plato's cheeks, tickling him with his short whiskers. "No need to get so down, eh? Jenny'll have her own litter soon; you'll have plenty of playmates before you know it."

"I guess so..."

"Plato!" Both toms whipped their heads up at the familiar call. Jellylorum stood expectantly by an empty, cracked bucket, her brow cocked knowingly. "It's time you wash up for bed, young man."

"Awe, Mum-"

"No buts!" Jellylorum chided, "The sun is halfway set. You can stay up for as long as you want-"

"- _when you're older_ ," Plato mimicked in a childish falsetto. He rose to his paws, giving Skimbleshanks an affectionate bump on his jaw, "Thanks, Skimbleshanks! Your stories are the best."

"Anytime, _ye wee barra_. Off to bed, now."

Skimbleshanks watched mother and son go, their matching patchy pelts swallowed up by the surrounding piles of forgotten junk. He made no move himself. In fact, he made no move for at least another half hour, quietly dozing with his eyes half-shut, feeling the warmth of the sun slowly seep from his fur as it descended lower in the sky and ignoring the deeply settled worry that wormed through his guts.

_Munkustrap moved on like nothing had happened._

Skimbleshanks couldn't imagine how the silver tom was actually feeling. However much he smiled around him (although nowadays, even that was a rare occurrence), he was still a very serious cat by nature. He shouldered Macavity's crimes and avoided Tugger, whether out of fear of catching onto the Bengal's permeable sadness or from the desire to not snap at his brother for being so emotional, Skimbleshanks wasn't quite sure.

Their strange little friendship, if it could be even be called something as simplistic as "friendship", remained unspoken since that early March morning. Asparagus, as Skimbleshanks' dearest friend, caught on in no time at all, and was forever sending him knowing looks if the Protector happened to be passing by. Old Deuteronomy, during one of his infrequent visits, had even taken Skimbleshanks aside before his leisurely journey back to the Vicarage.

"Am I in trouble, sir?"

"What? Goodness, no!" The old brown tom had fondly shaken his head, "My dear boy, I merely want to thank you."

Skimbleshanks had tilted his head to one side, confused.

Deuteronomy continued softly, "Munkustrap frequently sings your praises, intentionally or otherwise. You mean so much to him."

The Railway Cat shrank, feeling rather small despite the high praise. "Oh, I don't think I'm anything special-"

"But you are." Deuteronomy flicked his tail under Skimbleshanks' chin, "He was so withdrawn when he came to us. Grizabella hurt him in ways only a mother can. If it means anything to you, Skimbleshanks... thank you for making my boy smile."

He had ambled away, leaving Skimbleshanks sitting on an overturned flowerpot and feeling like he'd just been thanked by a kindly god rather than an ornery old tabby.

He was no longer constantly embarrassed by the whole ordeal, but his silence since then left him distinctly aware that he was far too late to mention whatever meandering relationship floated between he and Munkustrap. The other was simply too preoccupied with his thoughts for Skimbleshanks to feel comfortable proposing such a monumental change to their lives.

Yet the ache in Skimbleshanks' heart refused to go away.

As if on cue, Munkustrap's scent crossed him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Cracking open one eye, not wanting to rush, he did indeed notice Munkustrap striding past him; his gait was confident, smooth. Unbothered.

"Munkus?" Skimbleshanks called softly to him. Munkustrap twitched an ear in response but kept walking purposefully past.

"Hey, hey. Munkustrap?" Skimbleshanks scrambled after him, "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

A grunt: "Patrol."

"But you've already gone three times today!"

"Well, I'm going again!"

"Munkustrap!" Skimbleshanks sharply turned, landing himself in front of the silver tabby. "Munkus, lad, talk to me."

Munkustrap made a show of looking confused, but the irritation was evident in his eyes. "There's nothing to talk about."

"I beg to differ," Skimbleshanks snapped.

"Move, Skimbleshanks, or I'll move you myself." Munkustrap glared at him, stormy eyes flashing. They stared each other down, desperately willing the other to _just give up, please_ so either they could make some sort of break through or simply carry on like nothing happened.

_Like nothing had happened._

"No, I couldn't." Skimbleshanks wearily shook his head, his shoulders sagging. "I could never fight with you, Munkus."

Munkustrap snorted, "We weren't fighting."

"Munkustrap-"

"Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"Munkustrap, I'm _worried_ about you!" It came out desperate, bordering on hysterical. Skimbleshanks, for all his chatter, desperately tried to come up with something that would make him stop, just for two seconds, and come to his senses.

Munkustrap snarled, baring his fangs. "So is everyone else!" He lashed his tail, "All I see is you lot giving me pathetic looks day in and day out. I'm _tired_ of your pity, I don't want it!"

"Listen to yourself!" Skimbleshanks pleaded, "They just want you to be _happy_ , after all you've been through."

"I _am_ happy!"

"That's a load of baws." The ginger tabby reached a comforting paw out; Munkustrap swatted it away, "You haven't even spoken to Tugger."

Munkustrap wrinkled his nose, "He has Bomba."

"He needs you as well."

"Well, what if I don't want to speak with him? At least I don't mope around the Yard all day."

Skimbleshanks tipped his head back, exasperated, "He's grieving, Munkus..."

Munkustrap's eyes narrowed dangerously; his patience was obviously stretched to its absolute limit. Skimbleshanks felt as though he had stepped on a land mine and couldn't move until he knew for sure that it was a dud.

" _I don't want to talk to him._ "

"Then me!" Skimbleshanks cried, "Everlasting Cat, talk to me instead! You ran away from Grizabella and found us, Munkus. I thought we meant something to you, after all this time." He faltered, voice cracking. "I thought _I_ meant something to you..."

It was a low blow, Skimbleshanks knew, but it was a final gambit made by a desperate tom. His head drooped, ears flattening as he waited for the gentle brush of fur as Munkustrap strode past him, leaving whatever they almost had to be trodden into the earth and buried.

His head snapped back up when he heard a quiet sniffle.

Munkustrap's chest was heaving as he fought back the urge to burst into a flurry of inelegant sobs. Tears already threatened to spill down the silky fur on his cheeks.

"You mean everything to me." It came out as a choked whimper.

Skimbleshanks' body went rigid, like he'd just been kicked with a steel-toed boot.

"Lad-"

Munkustrap collided with the ginger tom, nearly knocking him off balance with the force of his body. He openly wept into Skimbleshanks' chest fur; the other curled around him as much as he could, trying to shield him the rest of the world and just how unimaginably unfair it was.

" _I'm sorry, I'm sorry-_ "

"Shh, I'm not angry, I promise." Skimbleshanks licked at Munkustrap's salty tears, "Don't cry, love. You'll break my heart."

"I d-don't want to fight."

"And we shan't, not so long as I'm alive."

Munkustrap drew in a shuddering breath, "I miss him. I hate him so much. He took Demeter, he was my _brother_ -" another sob. "S-so why do I want him to come back?"

Skimbleshanks pressed his gangly body into Munkustrap's, giving him all the warmth and love he had to offer. "It's not wrong to miss him."

“ _I hate him, I hate him so much_ -“

“I know, I know. There’s no shame in that either.” Skimbleshanks set his chin between Munkustrap’s ears as the younger thrust his muzzle into his shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with sadness. We’re here for you. _I’m_ here.”

“You’re always here,” Munkustrap wept. “Always here, and I was such an idiot. You’re so good to me. Bast, Skimbleshanks, _I love you_.”

Skimbleshanks had to force himself not to collapse from the sheer weight of those words. He’d waited months to hear them, a quiet, patient longing in the back of his mind. _I love you_.

“You’ve no idea how much you mean to me,” the ginger tabby eeked out.

Munkustrap’s sobs slowly ebbed away, but his face remained firmly pressed into Skimbleshanks’ side, not caring that the entire Yard had probably heard their dramatic argument, then tearful reconciliation. A vague memory flitted through the Railway Cat’s mind, of a superstitious queen and a tom who’s violent mischief was once thought to be merely childish pranks.

_He had simply come into existence, by the will of Moon._

He glared at the dusky purple sky, where the Moon would hang in a matter of hours, serene and above earthly concerns. For the sake of the cat he adored with all his being, Skimbleshanks cursed the heavenly deity for the first and last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macavity leaves the Jellicles.
> 
> I didn't realize how much exposition this story had until I wrote it, but I wanted to get it all out of my system.
> 
> 7/1/2020 Edit: I think I'm going to leave this story as it is here. It wraps up rather well, but aside from that I've also lost interest in continuing this particular narrative, especially when my ideas have changed so much behind the scenes. Thank you to everyone who read, favourited, and followed this story, and I hope to start producing more new content soon!


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